


Three times Geralt marks Jaskier (and the one time Jaskier marks Geralt)

by schreibzumlesen



Series: rattle your chains if you love being free [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Biting, Dom/sub, Eventual Romance, Geralt is a gentle dom, Humor, Light BDSM, M/M, Spanking, and Jaskier is such a brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22246033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schreibzumlesen/pseuds/schreibzumlesen
Summary: He smells of heat, lust and pride, and Geralt is more than willing to give him what he needs.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: rattle your chains if you love being free [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622392
Comments: 53
Kudos: 1316





	Three times Geralt marks Jaskier (and the one time Jaskier marks Geralt)

**Author's Note:**

> You can also read this fic in [German](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337608).

**i. **

Apparently, Jaskier cannot help himself entering all of the wrong castles in his sexual encounters and Geralt doesn’t know whether to be amused or to be irritated.

This time it was the mayor’s wife, he quickly learns from the gossip surrounding him in the tavern, and this time Jaskier couldn’t escape the wrath of her husband as it seems. A man twice of the bard’s size drags him by his collar through the room, straight to Geralt, who has strategically placed himself by a table in the corner in order not to attract unwanted attention. So much for that plan.

“He’s yours, isn’t he?” the man spits when he stops with Jaskier in front of Geralt.

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “Mine?” he asks and despite Jaskier smiling apologetically, he is tempted to deny all connections to him.

“Yours. Your little pet troubadour.” The words are furious and bitter and Geralt glances at Jaskier who shrugs his shoulders in the man’s grip.

“Ah Sir, I’m sorry to object, but I am not his-“

“Right. He’s mine.”

They can play this fucking game, and if it humiliates Jaskier, then Geralt accepts that easily. It’s nothing Jaskier doesn’t deserve.

The man shoves Jaskier towards him and Geralt grabs him by the wrist, mainly to prove his point but also because it prevents Jaskier from leaving and immediately finding another woman to seduce.

“I never want to see his face in this town again. Did I make myself clear, Witcher? ”

“Hm.” Geralt follows the man with his gaze as he leaves and smells the iron and the citrus in his rage.

Next to him, Jaskier laughs uneasily. “What a charming fellow, I must say. His wife was by far more appealing and… Geralt, you can let go of me now, yes?”

“Can I?”Geralt tightens his grip around Jaskier’s wrist although he doubts that Jaskier will abandon his way of life because of this gesture alone.

“Unless… you want to hold hands in this less than romantic atmosphere?” Jaskier suggests.

“Keep it in your pants,” Geralt warns him and Jaskier nods solemnly.

“I will. No more married women for me – at least not in this town.”

Geralt wants to believe him. Jaskier’s antics affect his life as well and it would be a nice change not having to protect the bard during every step he takes.

Later that night, however, Geralt is woken by outraged voices and a hand that hastily pats his shoulder.

“We have to go,” Jaskier whispers.

Geralt glares at him through the darkness. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Ah… the innkeeper’s eldest daughter. Sorry – sorry, I mean it.”

One day, Geralt will kill Jaskier, and it won’t be a pretty sight to look at.

Roach is less than pleased when they leave only moments later and Jaskier’s attempts at lightening the mood by songs, that praise the details of his previous romantic encounter, neither entertain her nor Geralt. Eventually, Geralt stops Roach and dismounts. Something needs to be done or he might lose his sanity with the lack of sleep and the lyrics of Jaskier’s song stuck in his head.

He beckons Jaskier over. “I’ll let you ride.”

“That’s ni- wait. Do you mean that? Are you sure?” Jaskier nervously eyes Roach and takes a step closer.

“Yes. Come here.”

When Jaskier does, Geralt takes a hold of his arm and bends him over, with the intention to silence him for a while or at least until Geralt has the patience to deal with an uncontrollable bard again.

“What are you- ow! Shit, fuck, Geralt! No!” Jaskier struggles in his grip but Geralt holds him down and swats his ass again, with more force than before.

“I told you to keep it in your pants. Why can’t you just do what I tell you?” He delivers another harsh slap.

“Ah! I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Good.” Geralt lets go of him and points at Roach. “Get up.”

“But-“

“ _Now_.”

Jaskier awkwardly climbs into the saddle and Geralt can actually make out a small whimper. He would lie if he says that it doesn’t satisfy him.

“I’ll be quiet,” Jaskier promises when Geralt sits behind him and takes the reins and Roach picks up her pace again.

Geralt only grunts in response.

“And I’ll be more careful. I mean, if anyone sees…”

“They won’t want you?” Geralt takes a deep breath but there is no iron, no anger and no salt, so no tears either. He smells something unexpected though, and when Jaskier leans back against Geralt’s chest, the scent is strong and clear. Arousal.

“I’m fairly confident that I can actually find someone who likes my sore ass.”

“Hm.” Geralt makes a mental note not to use his hand in the future. “I should’ve hit you harder then.”

Jaskier shifts in the saddle and even without seeing his face, Geralt knows that he’s smiling. “Maybe you should have indeed.”

** ii. **

The innkeeper is an old woman whose wrinkly hands shake when she gives Geralt the key to their room and doesn’t comment on their obvious intention to share it. Geralt doesn’t remember when he has started to wake up with Jaskier awfully close next to him and mumbling something about warmth but he doesn’t object. They can save money like this and shit, it does make sex a lot easier when there’s only one bed to choose.

“We could invest in another blanket though,” Jaskier points out, nonetheless. He turns to Geralt and frowns. “You don’t even need one and yet I have to pry it from your grip at night like you’re a personified icicle.”

They’re both in bed, naked, and Jaskier’s hair is dishevelled and his cheeks are flushed and Geralt admits that he likes this look on him. Besides, Jaskier usually is a lot calmer and quieter after he fucked him.

Usually.

“Those are the things that worry you?” Geralt tries to distract him with a deep kiss, without success.

“Well, yes. This could be a matter of life and death.”

“Or you might just be cold for a couple of hours,” Geralt replies. He wonders how luxurious Jaskier’s life was before he decided to follow Geralt like a lost puppy.

“I could always find someone else who is willing to share their blanket.” It’s moments like these when it becomes obvious that Jaskier doesn’t fear Geralt or any of his potential responses, most likely never has, and Geralt swears to himself that he will do anything to maintain this trust.

“You will not find someone else.” Gently, Geralt turns Jaskier’s chin to the side with two fingers and kisses his neck, once, twice. Then he sinks his teeth into the soft skin and bites down while the bard struggles beneath him, gasping and hissing.

“Geralt!”

He tastes like sweat, smoke and honey and when Jaskier’s fight eventually dies down, Geralt withdraws and soothingly strokes a finger over the darkening marks.

“You can’t do that,” Jaskier says and while his voice sounds weak, Geralt can see that his pupils are dilated.

“I just did. And now go to sleep.” Geralt pulls the blanket over Jaskier’s shoulders. He knows that Jaskier prefers his own body heat over the soft quilt anyway.

** iii. **

Geralt isn’t exactly made for banquets and celebrations but he still accompanies Jaskier when he gets invited to play his songs at some Viscount’s wedding to keep him out of trouble, and only because of that.

“You don’t have to stick to me like wax, Geralt. I’ll be good.” Jaskier flashes him a smile but Geralt sincerely doubts that the evening will pass without incidents.

“You will be or I’ll use a riding crop on you,” Geralt tells him and scans the room for possible threats or people that Jaskier has pissed off before.

Jaskier stares at him with wide eyes and his fingers, which have fiddled with the girth of his lute, go still. “You don’t use a riding crop on Roach. Why me?!”

It’s no direct protest, Geralt notes, and it almost seems like acceptance coming from Jaskier.

“Roach is much more intelligent than you are.”

“Funny.” Jaskier shakes his head. “You know, I might actually write a ballad about your brutish methods and cruel preferences so that the public is finally made aware of your true character.”

“Right.” Geralt sends him off with a slap to his ass and Jaskier flees before Geralt can hit him again.

During the next hours, Geralt tries to distract himself with alcohol and food and keeps an eye on Jaskier, just in case. So far, the bard has held back and has only exchanged a few words and chaste kisses with some of the invited guests, nothing to provoke a fight. When Jaskier notices Geralt watching, he winks at him and politely kisses the hand of the woman he has been talking to, before excusing himself. Jaskier has already turned around but Geralt can clearly see the shock in her eyes.

“You’re not interested in her?” he asks Jaskier mildly when he takes a seat beside him.

Jaskier sighs deeply. “It would help if _they_ were interested in _me_ and not intimidated by my oh-so-scary master.”

As so often, Geralt cannot quite follow Jaskier’s figures of speech. “Am I your master now?”

“They certainly think so. And _this_ doesn’t help.” Jaskier rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and shows Geralt his wrists, where purple bruises from the rope they used the night before create a harsh contrast to Jaskier’s otherwise pale skin. “They think I’m your slave or something equally horrifying. One of them even asked me if I would like an escort to protect me from you. Why is this happening?”

That explains the horrified glances of the guests Jaskier has attempted to flirt with. Geralt is almost entertained by the idea.

“You would make a terrible slave. Training you would be too much work.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Thanks.”

For a while, neither of them says anything and they study the dancing pairs around them instead. It’s a comfortable silence but Geralt waits for another comment since he knows that Jaskier can’t be quiet for long.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Jaskier eventually asks. “The marks?”

Geralt tilts his head. “I must admit that they’re practical.” He can sense that Jaskier isn’t upset, is aware of the way he absently rubs one of his wrists as if to relive the memory of being bound and helpless.

Jaskier sighs again and leans closer to Geralt. “Great. I guess that means I’m stuck with you for the rest of the evening.”

“How dreadful,” Geralt agrees. “Who knows what I will do to you?”

At this, Jaskier nods and Geralt can practically see the wheels in his head turning. “Hmm… yes. Who knows?”

Then he swiftly takes a goblet of wine from the table and looks Geralt straight into his eyes as he empties the cup over Geralt’s lap. Wine seeps through the thick fabric of Geralt’s clothes but he holds Jaskier’s gaze and they both know who will win this particular battle. With a careful gesture that reveals the bruises on his wrist once more, Jaskier puts the cup back onto the table and laughs anxiously. “Uh… so? Are you going to punish me for that?”

He smells of heat, lust and pride, and Geralt is more than willing to give him what he needs.

* * *

** i. **

Jaskier’s next song is a fast jig about a thief who gets whipped and when Geralt hears people on the streets humming the lines, he is close to locking Jaskier and himself up in a room for a week to show him exactly which personal experiences he is not allowed to use in his music or poetry ever again.

Except he doesn’t.

Instead he buys a collar, and when he later fastens it around Jaskier’s neck and carefully touches his throat, its existence marks both of them. Jaskier belongs to him, but Geralt also belongs to Jaskier, and maybe another song is about the kindness of love, how remarkable the teeth of a fearless Witcher feel and how affectionate a wolf can be with the moon protecting them. This song, Geralt actually likes.

**Author's Note:**

> I've started to write some more of these 3+1 (yes, I know, it's supposed to be five but... uh) thingies for these two idiots, so if you have any wishes or suggestions, let me know. :) 
> 
> (Also English is not my native language and I'm just going to ignore all of the punctuation rules. Sorry.)


End file.
